


Mark Your Calendar

by grey2510



Series: Light's Grace!verse [21]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Birthday, Christmas, Domestic, Easter, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, F/M, Fallen Angel Castiel, Fluff, Fourth of July, Gen, Graduation, Halloween, Holidays, Light Angst, M/M, Memorial Day, New Year's Eve, POV Alternating, POV Castiel, POV Dean Winchester, POV Sam Winchester, Thanksgiving, Underage Drinking, Valentine's Day, Veterans Day, holiday drabbles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 02:56:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5358395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/pseuds/grey2510
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>April 2015-March 2016: The holidays of Dean, Cas, Sam, and Claire's first year as a family.</p><p>Canon-divergent after 10x14 and follows the events of the previous parts of the Light's Grace!verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mark Your Calendar

**Author's Note:**

> I know I should be working on finishing "Legacies", but this just came to me instead. 
> 
> Enjoy some drabbly holiday fluff (and a little angst). :)
> 
> **LG!V TIMELINE: April 2015-March 2016**   
> 

** Easter **

 

“What did I do wrong?” Cas asks as Dean pulls him into another aisle of the store, all the while laughing in a way that is strongly reminiscent of when Dean dragged him out the back door of a brothel.

“Cas, man, you can’t talk about how the Easter Bunny isn’t real or how Luke was a degenerate drunk who wildly exaggerated a lot of stuff about Jesus in between knocking ‘em back when you're in front of a toy aisle where kids are listening.”

“Don’t they deserve the truth?” Cas asks, tilting his head in question.

"They’re kids, Cas,” Dean sighs with an eye-roll. “Let ‘em keep their innocence a little longer, ok? The world sucks enough as it is. Just...let them have the Easter Bunny and crap.”

“If you say so,” Cas agrees. He wonders if he will ever understand all these rules to being human, but he resolves to try, and follows Dean to the men’s clothing aisle.

 

 

** Birthday **

 

“April 28th is coming up,” Cas says over his cup of coffee and whole wheat toast (Sam’s been a bad influence on Cas’ eating habits).

Dean blinks. “...and?”

“Claire will be turning eighteen,” Cas answers. “I believe it’s customary to give a birthday gift?”

“Aw shit,” Dean grunts and Cas looks up at him in shock, and— _dammit_ —that wounded puppy look he gets when he thinks he’s done something wrong. “No, it’s fine, Cas. Should’ve remembered.”

Cas opens his mouth to respond, but Dean’s already got his phone to his ear and is holding up a ‘shush’ hand in Cas’ direction as the call connects.

“Dude, there better be a freaking Apocalypse on if you’re calling me this early,” a sleepy voice answers. “Wait, there isn’t an Apocalypse, is there?”

“No, Charlie, no Apocalypse. But, uh, we need your help…”

 

“Happy birthday, Claire,” Cas announces as he and Dean walk into the library where Claire is hunched over a math textbook.

The ex-angel holds out the gift shyly and awkwardly, and Dean is suddenly thankful that Charlie insisted on them at least buying a gift bag if neither of them wanted to do the whole wrapping paper gig. If it’d been up to him, the present would probably still be in the cheap plastic shopping bag the cashier put it in; somehow John Winchester’s parenting skills were a little Martha Stewart-light and didn’t involve proper gift wrapping techniques.

Claire’s mouth drops into a little ‘O’ of surprise for the briefest of seconds before the defenses go right back up.

“Figured you forgot. Thanks,” she shrugs, a little too nonchalantly for Dean’s taste, but if he’s going to pick a battle with Claire this week, it 1) isn’t going to be on her birthday and 2) is going to be about the dirty cups and mugs he keeps finding all over the goddamn bunker.

The teen unwraps the gift, her fingers lightly tracing the bright blue stitching on a black and grey messenger bag.

“Charlie helped pick it,” Cas explains when Claire doesn’t say anything. “If it’s not what you want, I’m sure we can—”

And the former Angel of the Lord nearly has the wind knocked out of him by the force of Claire’s hug. Dean laughs, and then, before he can get attacked, too, makes his way to the hallway.

“Last one to the kitchen doesn’t get cake!” he calls. Cake ain’t pie, but he’ll live.

“It’s my cake!” Claire replies, charging after him, and neatly hip-checking him out of the way.

Oh, it is _on._

 

Cas is snoring on the couch, Sam has just shuffled off to his room, and Claire and Dean are the only ones still standing. Dean jerks his head to the door and Claire silently questions him before getting up and following.

They end up in the armory—and even though it’s been a few years of living in the bunker, the fact that he has a freaking _armory_ never ceases to amaze Dean—and he hands something to Claire that he never _ever_ wanted to give to a kid.

Because she is a kid (his kid). Even if she’s eighteen.

“I don’t want you to hunt,” Dean says solemnly as the heavy weight of the gun settles in her hand. He hates how easy it seems. “But any evil sons-of-bitches come your way, I want you to be able to fight ‘em off. I want you to be safe, Claire.”

Her eyes are wide and dark with understanding, and she just nods. No hugs for this gift.

A snarky grin and a raised eyebrow shift the mood considerably, though. “Betcha I can hit a bullseye every time,” Claire wagers.

“How about you show me what you got, kid?” Dean replies as he leads her to the shooting range.

 

 

** Memorial Day **

           

There are no words spoken except names—John, Mary, Ellen, Jo, Bobby, Kevin... Names lost in a hidden war. A splash of whiskey hits the dry dirt, the rest hits dry tongues.

 

 

** Graduation **

 

“I’m not going.”

The answer silences the whole table and Sam immediately regrets asking, judging from the looks on Dean and Cas’ faces. He has a feeling his own expression isn’t all that different.

“Oh, ok. I’m sure they’ll just mail you the diploma,” Sam quickly backtracks while Dean just shovels another spoonful of chili into his mouth. Cas’ eyes flick between the teen and the elder Winchester, but he says nothing.  

“That’s it?” Claire’s arms are crossed like she’s expecting a fight. Sam watches as the mostly-silent capitulation from the three men almost makes her bristle more in indignation.

“Can’t make you go,” Dean shrugs, but Sam knows his brother well enough to see the disappointment in his shoulders.

The silence is awkward until Cas brings up a headline he saw that might mean a possible ghoul case in Montana, and both brothers quickly latch onto the topic. Claire simply finishes her chili and cleans up her bowl before leaving the kitchen.

Sam finds her later in the shooting range with a gun that he’s fairly certain used to be Dean’s, and that he’s also fairly certain Cas probably wouldn’t approve of, but that’s an argument he’s definitely not wading into.

Claire fires off two more rounds, both chest shots on the target, one of them hitting the heart. She’s a good shot, he’ll give her that. Then again, he’d expect nothing less from someone studying under Dean. It’s how he learned, after all.

She slips out the magazine and starts refilling it, giving Sam the opportunity to tap her on the shoulder without risking getting shot. Claire spins in surprise, then yanks out the bright yellow earplugs.

“What do you want?” she grumbles.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Sam lifts a shoulder as he settles back on his heels. “Just to talk.”

Claire snorts, then turns back to reloading the gun, her fingers moving quickly with obvious practice and familiarity.

“So how come you don’t want to go to graduation?” he asks, then holds up a placating hand when she gives him a very clear stink-eye. “Hey, I’m not saying you have to go. Just wondering.”

Another bullet slips into place, and Claire sighs, then puts down the weapon parts and faces Sam. “Because the robes and hats are stupid and ugly, and hell, half my transcript is forged, and I really don’t want to sit in the gym while everyone talks about all their favorite memories they’ve had since kindergarten or whatever when I’ve only been there like three months.” The rant tumbles out of her and when she finishes, she slouches back against the counter, the fervor gone. “Plus, they’ll probably play some stupid song like ‘Time of Your Life’ and everyone will cry because they’re stupid and don’t realize the song’s also called ‘Good Riddance’, and besides, Green Day’s old anyway.”

Up until the last part, Sam had been ready to jump on board the sympathetic understanding train, but the Green Day diatribe is so unexpected—and completely on point—that he lets out a guffaw instead.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” he admits, running a hand through his hair. “Sounds pretty much like my graduation.”

“Green Day and all?” Claire asks.

“Green Day and all,” Sam confirms. “The whole thing was kinda stupid, but I still wanted to go, and I’m pretty sure Dean would’ve dragged me there anyway.”

“Why? Didn’t Dean drop out of high school?”

“Yeah, and that’s exactly why he wanted me to go to graduation. And exactly why he’d want you to go.” Sam sees Claire’s chin lift in defense, and so he quickly adds, “But that doesn’t mean you have to. Just explaining why he’s probably being an ass about it. He’s just proud of you, that’s all.”

“He’s not my dad,” Claire answers with a touch of petulance.

“Nope, he’s not,” Sam agrees. “Doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. Cas, too. Hell, I didn’t think my _own_ dad cared, but he did, in his own way.”

Claire tilts her head in question, and for an odd moment, Sam is struck with Cas-déjà-vu and he wonders how many of Cas’ mannerisms are his and how many are actually holdovers from Jimmy; it’s an uncomfortable thought, and so he pushes it away in favor of talking about his father. Yeah, because that’s such an easy topic.

“My dad showed up near the end of the ceremony. I think Dean somehow managed to convince Dad to let me stay in Sioux Falls at Bobby’s for a few months, just so I could finish up school,” Sam says, and once again, the guilt from asking Bobby not to tell his father or Dean about the college letters coming in the mail makes the bile rise in his throat, even though it's been over a decade. “Anyway, I get up on the stage, and I look out and I can see Dean and Bobby in the back row of seats, and Dean’s giving me this big dumb-ass grin, but then I look past him and see my dad standing near the exit. And he just nodded at me, and that was it.”

“He just nodded?” Claire comments.

Sam huffs a small laugh. “Yeah, well, coming from John Winchester, that was like throwing a parade or slapping a ‘My kid’s an honors student’ bumper sticker on the Impala.”

At this Claire actually chuckles. “Dean would be so pissed. I can just see him scraping off the sticker while muttering, ‘I’m so sorry, Baby.’”

Her guttural impersonation of Dean’s voice is too perfect, and they both dissolve into laughter for a moment.

“I’m still not going,” Claire says at last.

“Good riddance,’” Sam replies, earning a grin from the girl.

 

 

** Fourth of July **

 

“Ah yes, the time-honored Fourth of July tradition of salting and burning an old couple's bones,” Dean grunts, hoisting another shovelful of dirt up and out of the grave. “Just as the Founding Fathers would have wanted.”

“Quit griping, Dean,” Sam huffs from the grave next to him. “And keep digging.”

Cas stands on the edge of the graves above them; Cas had won the rock-paper-scissors playoffs for non-grave-digging duty. Lucky bastard. His face is tilted up to the sky and flashes of red, blue, white, and green light up his features.

“At least the fireworks make it a little nicer than usual,” Cas murmurs.

“Says the guy not elbows deep in grave dirt,” Dean retorts grumpily, but his lips betray him and curve up into a fond smile as he watches the colorful lights play over Cas for a second.

Until his Sasquatch of a brother tosses a shovelful of dirt at him and he gets back to digging up ol’ Mrs. Feinstein.

 

 

** Halloween **

 

“Hello, Claire,” Cas answers after the second ring. In the background, he can hear thumping music and many garbled voices.

Beside him on the bed, Dean sits up, clearly ready to make a beeline for the Impala. All night, Dean’s been on edge, not just because Claire is out at a college party, but because of the holiday itself; Cas has heard several times now about how much Dean hates Halloween because of "all the dumbasses who are like ‘hey, this looks old and creepy, I betcha it’d make an awesome decoration’ and then ended up fucking screwed over because whatever they picked up at some yard sale is haunted or cursed or whatever, and even that’s not as bad as the assclowns who decide that October 31st is the best day to start reading random Latin shit they find in old books and end up raising the dead." Dean’s words, not Cas’.

“Caaaaaaaaas!” Claire trills, and while he’s relieved that Claire doesn’t sound hurt, Cas is immediately concerned with the unnatural level of excitement in her voice; she’s never that happy to talk to him. It also takes a minute for Cas to put the pieces together because, in his experience with the Winchesters, alcohol usually has the opposite effect on mood.

“Claire, hold on one moment,” Cas says as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He covers the mouthpiece with a hand as he turns back to Dean. “She’s fine, go back to sleep.”

“You sure?” Dean asks. Cas nods, and with that assurance, Dean lets his hunter-mode switch off again and he settles back into the pillow with a soft _flump._

In the hallway, Cas resumes his phone call. “Claire, you are drunk, correct?”

“Nooo...”

“Claire.”

“Well, maybe a little,” she admits in a voice that strives for innocence and fails. “I need a ride ‘cause there’s just so many gears in my car…and your car is kinda stupid but it’s not so bad even if it’s kinda doofy.”

Cas isn’t sure what the aesthetic merits of his car have to do with anything at the moment, but he’s at least relieved that she has enough presence of mind to call instead of trying to drive herself.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he assures her, thankful that Dean demanded an address for the party before she left—after Dean promised he wouldn’t come by and "go all dad on everyone." Her words, not Cas’.

Cas can hear the party before he actually sees the house. There are cars parked up and down the street, some even on the lawn. He finds Claire sitting on a rock wall along the driveway, the fuzzy white wings strapped to her back drooping rather crookedly and the sparkly gold halo headband twirling in her hands.

(“You’re going as an _angel_?” Dean had asked with a scowl when he’d seen the costume, then had looked worriedly over at Cas for his reaction. “That’s not funny.” “Oh c’mon, admit it. It’s a little funny,” she’d answered. Cas had simply rolled his eyes. Sometimes he wonders how he got stuck with two of them.)

As soon as Cas stops the car, Claire gets up and makes her way, somewhat unsteadily, to the passenger seat.

“Thanks, Cas,” she grins, then frowns. “My car’s still here.”

“We’ll get it in the morning. We’ll tell Dean it was blocked in by other cars and you wanted to come home.”

“Goooood,” she nods sagely.

They take off, back towards the bunker, and thankfully only have to make one stop for Claire to be sick by the side of the road. Once home, Cas wraps an arm around her shoulders as he guides her back to her room. The wings are instantly discarded on the floor, and Claire thankfully, as far as Cas is concerned, decides that the white jersey dress she is wearing is comfortable enough for sleep and she crawls into bed.

The next morning, Cas wakes up with a crink in his neck, having inadvertently fallen asleep in the chair by Claire’s bed. His eyes are gummy as he blinks them open, and he finds the source of the noise that had woken him: Dean putting a glass of water and a bottle of Excedrin on Claire’s nightstand.

The teen is still sleeping soundly, and so Cas follows Dean out of the room. Dean just shrugs when they get into the hall.

“We’ve all been there.”

 

 

** Veteran’s Day **

 

“To John Winchester,” Dean says, clinking his tumbler against Sam’s.

They down the whiskey silently, then sit for a moment on their respective beds in a motel room in East Bumfuck, Idaho, each with his elbows on knees. Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, then gets up and pulls out his phone.

One missed text from Cas.

Info about their case and witnesses.

Because the supernatural never takes a day off.

 

 

** Thanksgiving **

           

“Have you even ever cooked a turkey before, Dean?” Sam asks with a doubtful raised eyebrow.

“Nope,” Dean answers cheerfully, (not-so) privately reveling in his brother’s concern.

“Well, I’m not gonna be the guinea pig and die of food poisoning,” Sam retorts.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Oh, c’mon, Sammy. It’s not that hard. I’ve cooked chicken and haven’t killed you yet. Plus, Jody says…”

“Wait, you asked Jody about cooking?”

“Well, yeah,” Dean shrugs.

“Oh, good,” Sam says, relief flooding his voice.

Dean had invited Charlie, Jody, and Alex to come down to the bunker for Thanksgiving, with mixed results. Charlie should be arriving any minute, but Jody had already made plans to host for some of the other cops in Sioux Falls. The phone call hadn’t gone to waste, though: the sheriff had been full of helpful tips. And, apparently, Sam trusts the word of Jody enough to have faith in Dean’s cooking (which is pretty fucking fantastic, as far as Dean is concerned).

Cas enters the kitchen at that moment, and Dean wraps an arm around his shoulder.

“Besides, Sammy, if the turkey sucks, Cas made pies. Pumpkin and apple.”

“I don’t know if they will be any good,” Cas frowns, but Dean just claps him on the back confidently as he turns back to the oven.

“No way, man," he assures Cas. "I was here the whole time you were baking. They smelled awesome. You can’t fuck up pie.”

 

Final verdict:

Turkey: fucking awesome

Charlie's homemade cranberry sauce: ambrosia of the gods

Mashed potatoes and gravy: awesome (duh...it's gravy)

Stuffing: awesome

Squash: ugh, but Sam and Cas seemed to like it

Green bean casserole: for rabbit food, not bad

Pie: well, let’s just say Dean’s reaction may have scarred Sam, Charlie, and Claire for life; Cas simply grinned.

 

 

** Christmas **

 

The living room floor is a mess of crumpled up wrapping paper and newspaper, but no one seems inclined to do anything about it.

“What about you guys?” Charlie asks while wrapping her brand new Fourth Doctor scarf from Dean around her neck.

Dean and Cas look at each other somewhat sheepishly. “We, uh, already gave each other our presents,” Dean answers.

Sam looks up from reading the back cover of the book he’s holding, his nose crinkled up in disgust. “Dude, we don’t want to know.”

“What?” Dean nearly spits out the coffee he just sipped. “What, no, that’s not what I meant!” And then, because he can’t help but make his brother squirm, “Well, that’s not all I meant…”

“Seriously? I’m _right here_ ,” Claire says in exasperation as she wrestles with the hard plastic wrapping around her new phone case. “Yes!” she exclaims when the package finally rips open.

Cas, however, decides to answer Charlie’s question more seriously, reaching inside the collar of his shirt and pulling out the silver car key pendant Dean had given him two weeks ago. Dean mirrors the action, drawing out the black and silver feather pendant.

“Claire helped us each pick them out,” Cas tells Charlie and Sam.

Charlie beams at them, and at Claire. “Those are awesome!”

Dean catches Sam’s eye and Dean nearly glares, expecting his brother to make some wise-ass or overly saccharine comment about the necklaces. But, Sam just gives him a look and small smile, understanding completely the significance and importance of the gifts. Satisfied, Dean nods back, and settles into the couch next to Cas.

 

 

** New Years **

 

“3...2...1...Happy New Year!” the ancient motel TV declares.

Dean’s eyes are wide with surprise, and Cas draws back immediately, a lead weight settling in his gut.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I was told it’s traditional to kiss at midnight on New Year's,” Cas apologizes.

“Yeah, no, you’re right. Just wasn’t expecting it.” The back of Dean’s neck is red, and a smile and a scowl fight on his lips. The smile wins, however, and Dean leans forward.

“Uh, guys?” Sam interrupts from behind them. Cas and Dean both turn, and Cas expects Sam to be making the same look he usually does whenever Cas and Dean show affection towards each other, but instead Sam is pointing at the TV screen with one finger lifted from the beer he’s holding.

Behind the local news reporters chatting inanely over the crowd’s rendition of “Auld Lang Syne” is a man wrapped up in a jacket and scarf, looking for all the world like just another member of the crowd. Except when he turns towards the camera.

And his eyes glow like a lens flare.

“Godfuckingdammit,” Dean grumbles. “I thought we got all the skeevy shifting bastards.”

“Guess not,” Cas and Sam sigh at the same time, and they all start gearing up.

“Well, Happy New Year, Cas. Looks like it'll be just like the old one,” Dean says with mock cheer as they head out the door.

“I highly doubt that will be true,” Cas replies significantly, taking Dean’s hand in his.

 

 

** Valentine’s Day **

 

“Have fun with Olivia,” Dean says with an almost obscene eyebrow waggle as Sam tosses his duffel into his truck. Jared pokes his head out the window and wuffs softly into Sam's hand as he scratches behind the dog's ears.

Sam rolls his eyes at his brother, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to the weekend.

“Do I dare ask what you have planned?” Sam leans back against the vehicle, hands in his jacket pockets.

Dean just gives him a sardonic look. “Well, it ain’t Unattached Drifter Christmas anymore, but just ‘cause I’m with Cas doesn’t mean I’m gonna start doing all that frou-frou Valentine’s Day shit.”

“Translation: you’re going to take advantage of the fact that Claire is visiting Jody and Alex and I’m going to just pray that we don’t have to powerwash the whole bunker when I get back.”

“Sam, you wound me. I would never.” Dean pretends to clutch his heart in insult. Then, he cackles, claps Sam on the shoulder, and makes his way back to the bunker.

Sam shakes his head, then climbs into the truck next to his furry co-pilot (maybe he should rename the dog 'Chewie').

As he starts the engine, he gets a text from Olivia that would make a nun blush. Oh, yeah, a weekend away is definitely something he needs.

 

 

** The Fall **

 

“You don’t regret it, do you?” Dean’s voice is quiet, but somehow the dark amplifies the near-whisper.

Cas rolls over onto his side, facing Dean, who stays on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Even in just the faint glow from the screen of Cas’ phone charging on the nightstand, he can see the lines of worry in Dean’s face. He considers the question, knowing Dean will hate a simple platitude.

“No, I don’t regret it,” Cas replies finally. “I would make the same decision again in an instant if I had to. I won’t lie, though. There are things I miss about being an angel, and this past year has been difficult at times.”

Dean’s head jerks to the side and his eyes meet Cas’. Cas puts a hand on Dean’s upper arm, then slides it down to meet Dean’s own hand. Their fingers twine together under the sheets.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says heavily.

“Don’t,” Cas cuts him off. “You and Sam have felt more like home and family than Heaven for years now.”

“What do you miss?”

“Flying,” Cas answers without hesitation. “And being able to heal you. And I miss feeling...connected to the world around me. When I went...crazy...nature was one of the few comforts I found. Plants and animals are so complex, but uncomplicated, if that makes any sense.”

“You and those fucking bees,” Dean says with a shake of his head.

“Bees are fascinating,” Cas defends with a frown. “Without bees…”

“Cas,” Dean near whines. “Trust me, I know. You’ve told me a million times how important bees are, how without bees the world would fall apart.”

“What can I say? I have an affinity for things that keep the world from falling apart.”

Dean grins. “You’re a sap.” Cas feels Dean’s thumb rub against the back of his hand and they’re silent for moment. “So you’re sure you don’t regret falling?”

“I will if you keep asking me and feeling guilty about it,” Cas replies with a fake hint of scold.

“Well, happy humanniversary to you, too,” Dean grumbles in mock indignation.

“I don’t think that’s a word, Dean.”

Dean smirks, then rolls over to plant a kiss on Cas’ lips. “I don’t think I care.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! And I love me some kudos and comments. :)


End file.
